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User blog:Oshawott777/Dead by Daylight
Leatherface-Whether killers perform their heinous acts by the compulsions of their diseased minds, or if they are forced into them by external pressures, has long been a matter of debate. But for one killer, nature and nurture are inextricably linked. Leatherface kills not from a desire to exert his will over others, to satisfy carnal urges, or even to quiet the voices in his head. He kills because he is scared. Scared that others will hurt him; scared that his family will be displeased with him, scared that their shared willingness to eat human flesh will be discovered. He does as he is told. His family loves him and that is all that matters. Outsiders are a threat, and threats need to be dealt with. Like those kids that came into the house, uninvited. Walked in like they owned the place. Looked around the house, trying to find out his family’s secrets, no doubt. But Leatherface deals with them, and protects his family just as he’s been taught. He is not just protector, he has many roles, and each role has its own face. He serves dinner, cares for the family, and dresses well when they eat. His Grandpa and Ma used to care for them all, but Grandpa, he is old now and Ma has been still for a while, so Leatherface and his brothers had to take over. Family is everything to him. Family is security and safety. But, even though he did his best, one of the kids got away. He tried to stop her, chasing after her as fast as he could, but she had help: another outsider, driving a truck. The evil trucker killed his brother, ran him over like he was a possum. In a fury, Leatherface leapt at him, the saw ready to avenge his family, but the trucker was too quick. He knocked Leatherface aside and turned his own saw against him. As he watched the outsiders driving away, the rage, grief and pain combined with the worry about what would happen to his family now. They would surely return with the police, and the police would take his brothers, his Grandpa. Without them, what would he do? Without their commands, he would wither and die. As his world collapsed, Leatherface spun in circles, swinging the saw all around, trying to fight off the myriad external threats that surrounded him. Then another feeling overtook him. It came from outside his vision, crawling over his skin with cold dread. He realised that no matter what outsiders could do to him, there was something worse, something bigger that lived in the shadows. He was filled with a terror unlike any he had ever felt before. But it was almost comforting, like the fear he'd felt with his family. The fear of disappointing them. He was brought to a place that was familiar but unknowable, and he instinctively knew what he had to do. He couldn't fail it, the way he had his family. Outsiders would come but he would use his skills to overcome any threats. There would be screaming, but he could make the world quiet again. Until the only sound remaining was the blessed howl of the saw. Let the outsiders come. Freddy Krueger-1. “This place plays tricks on your mind…constantly I question whether I dream or if I am awake. This most recent horrid ghoul seems to bridge that gap – between the states of being awake or asleep. I saw him hunting another poor soul, someone who was not as lucky as me. A man with a hat and a claw clad hand, a scarred man of sorts. He spotted me and what actually happened next is still a mystery to me. Dreams took over, and I was sure to die. But I woke up. Not like in the manner where I awake a the campfire, but instead I just woke up…inside this wretched forest, with memories of nightmares within. I am now afraid to sleep, but also to stay awake.” 2. Even while he lived, Freddy Krueger was a creature of nightmares for those who truly knew him. Hiding behind a mask of warmth and friendliness, Freddy's actual temperament was known only to his victims. When those victims were finally heard, the parents of Springwood tracked Freddy down and took the law into their own hands. They thought that fire had rid them of a monster that night, that their children were finally safe, but evil as strong as his has a way of surviving. Years passed, the horror was buried, the victims mercifully forgot. Then, somehow, Freddy returned, and dreams became nightmares once again. Freddy focused his anger on those he felt had wronged him, building up to his one true obsession, Nancy Holbrook. But he underestimated her strength and resourcefulness. Together with her friend Quentin Smith, she managed to weaken Freddy, mutilating him and leaving him for dead once more. Death didn't want Freddy the first time he encountered it, why did they think it would take him now? He emerged once more, consumed with vengeance. Then he turned his sights on the boy who had blocked his path to Nancy, his number one. Freddy invaded Quentin's dreams, terrorising him night after night, until his strength and defences would be at their lowest. When the time was right, he forced the boy to return to the dark reflection of Badham Preschool. Here he would have his final revenge. Freddy stalked the boy through the school's halls. He took his time, savouring every moment of the hunt. This was what he enjoyed the most, the smell of their sweat in the air, the ragged gasps of their terrified breath. They were his to toy with. There was the boy, at the end of a long corridor. Too tired and scared to run anymore? Resigned to his fate? Freddy closed in, arms wide, claws raking the wall. Their tips traced along a pipe, the metallic shrieking only adding to the boy’s apprehension. A shower of sparks rained on the ground, and into the liquid that covered the tiled floor. A blue flame blossomed and quickly engulfed the room. The boy took flight as Freddy burst from the flames in a fury. Rooms and walls raced past in a blur until they were in Freddy's basement. There would be no escape from here. Slowly Freddy closed in on the boy. His fear was so strong now that Freddy could almost taste it, but his eyes burned with a defiant hatred that was almost admirable. Freddy drew back his claws. Then Freddy felt another presence with him; something old, powerful and dark. A miasma enveloped him and the only sensation was a sound like wooden beams flexing and creaking in the distance. The echoing groan of metal crushed against metal. Something arcane and unknowable, half-way between language and pure terror. A moment of falling and spinning and then Freddy was back in the school. But not his school. It looked the same, but it felt different. His powers were tempered in some ways and focused in others. The boy had gone for now, but another prey walked the hallways. Some would be inconsequential; others would become his new favourites. All would fall before his claws. Badham Preschool-“The word ‘preschool’ should make you think of laughter and the sound of children’s feet. But this latest structure is the opposite. It represents something dark that ruptures my insides. I do not understand exactly what transpired here. But I get this feeling. A disturbing feeling that in many ways do explain what happened. I have no answers, but I wonder how something cheerful could turn this dark. Filled with catatonic children and crying parents – I can only assume. Benches, desks and chairs now resemble torture devices rather than tools for teaching, playing and learning. I saw a teddy bear when I explored the hallways, and I thought about what it might say if it were alive. Then I left the premises.” Quentin Smith-1. “I saw a young man the other day. He seemed both awake and asleep at the same time. A bit drowsy, but determined. Even though I lacked to see anyone or anything going after him, he would not stop. I have witnessed true fear many times at this place. But this man provides a whole new spectra of fear. What would make a man too afraid to even stop to take a breathe? He seems determined to reach the gates. I too had that urge once. But I failed too many times to reach them, too many mistakes and deaths. But this young man is different. Maybe he will actually escape. For real. But he looks tired, so intensely tired.” 2. When he heard that Nancy's mother had disappeared, Quentin Smith knew instantly that their success had been short-lived. Although their plan had seemed to work flawlessly, Freddy Krueger had beaten death yet again. But Quentin wasn't about to give up. It may take many attempts, but he vowed that somehow they would find a way to beat Freddy, once and for all. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before Freddy would win and Nancy was lost. Someone like Quentin never attracted attention in a library, no matter how strange the texts he requested. He devoured all the information he could find, on shared dream worlds, lucid dreaming, and the methods to control the dream space. Forcing himself to stay awake, via a steady diet of pills and energy drinks, he searched through dusty volumes, finding myths about the demons that live in dreams, trapping their victims in limbo and feeding off their terror. He worked quickly as he knew that Freddy would soon be coming for him. It wasn't long before that moment arrived and Freddy began appearing in his dreams. He stayed at the periphery at first, taunting Quentin, seemingly hoping to tire him out. Using all that he had learned, Quentin was able to see flaws in the dream; cracks where escape routes could be formed. He tested this skill carefully, not wanting to show his hand, hoping that it would give him some kind of advantage that he could use to defeat Freddy. Then, one night, he found himself in the familiar environment of Badham Preschool. Freddy had tired of the taunting and had finally decided to gut him. Quentin ran through the school, his quick eyes scanning for something useful in the maze of rooms. He found a can of paint thinner and quickly formulated a plan. Once the trap was set, he waited, acting as the lure to draw Freddy into the right position. And there he was, claws scraping on metal as he closed in for the kill. Quentin allowed himself time to enjoy the surprise on Freddy’s face as the corridor ignited and then he was away, running through the building, heading for the exit that he knew existed. If he harried Freddy, weakening him and then escaping the dream, surely that would defeat him over time? Before his eyes, the cracks in the dream closed and his escape route was blocked. He was in Freddy’s secret room again, and there was nowhere to run. As Freddy closed in, a broad grin spreading across his ruined face, Quentin was consumed with a need to see this man finally obliterated. He wished it had been him, not his father, who threw the gas can that ended Krueger’s life, that it had been him who cut Freddy’s throat. Perhaps that desire would be enough? This was a realm of the mind after all. He let it consume him, concentrating all his thoughts on wishing Freddy gone. His vision was obscured with roiling tendrils of fog and, when it cleared, he was somewhere else. In another dream? If so, it wasn't his; it felt cold and unfamiliar. A flickering drew his attention and he realised he was by a campfire, and he wasn't alone. Other people were trapped here too, and they needed his help. David Tapp-1. “I am not a stranger to law enforcement professionals. I have learned to…spot them. To recognize their posture and sway. Now, one seems to inhabit this, my new home. He looks worn down, but just like me, he refuses to simply lay down and await the coming pain and death. The struggle is the only thing that keeps him sane – something to focus on. Just as you can recognize the hardship of a law enforcer, many times you can also spot a man that has experienced what others never come near. Beatings and violence, determination. Maybe this new man seeks justice? Maybe he still carries a badge? Whatever might he be looking for here, at this place that lacks justice or an end?” 2. Detective David Tapp was one of the good guys. His determination to see Killers brought to justice and their victims avenged had led him through a long and respected career. When he first saw the details of the Jigsaw case, it seemed like many others. More grisly and macabre, sure, but just another lunatic with a penchant for the over-dramatic, who would soon be behind bars. A stroke of insight brought Tapp, and his partner Detective Stephen Sing, to an abandoned mannequin factory, where they discovered Jigsaw’s lair. They apprehended the man but he managed to escape before being unmasked, slashing Tapp's throat as he did so. Leaving his partner, Sing went in pursuit but fell victim to a booby trap. Tapp had failed to go by the book on this one occasion, entering the lair without a warrant, and it had resulted in a Detective's death. He was discharged from the force and left with a ruined throat and crippling guilt. He channelled that guilt into an obsession: he would find the killer, stop the murders, vindicate himself, and avenge his friend and colleague. Following the evidence trail brought him to Dr Lawrence Gordon and he staked out the doctor’s apartment, sure that he would find some evidence of guilt. Then he saw a stranger at Gordon's window and heard gunshots. Tapp confronted him and the man fled, with the pursuit leading to an industrial building. Tapp's age caught up with him, a fight that he would easily have won in his younger days ended with Tapp taking a bullet to the chest. Slumping to the floor, he saw only failure. He had failed his partner and the other victims. Whoever the killer was, Tapp had been unable to stop him. More would die and it would be his fault. He let the rage and guilt consume him and closed his eyes for the final time. Beneath him, the concrete floor softened. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling dirt and leaves. Where his chest had been wet with blood, the shirt was now dry and the pain had gone. His eyes opened onto a darkened sky and the jagged, searching fingers of branches. Screams echoed through the forest and a new determination filled him. His mind was clear for the first time in months. Victims needed to be avenged, killers thwarted. He didn’t know what this place was, but he was still a cop, and he always would be. He had a job to do. Amanda-1. “At first I actually believed that it was a pig that slept in front of me on the ground. An animal that somehow had eluded the banalities of my old life and managed to end up at this forsaken and forgotten place. But then it rose, from crouch to standing, with its lifeless eyes nailed to my person. I ran, as I have so brutally learnt to do. My curiosity halted my escape after a few feet and I hid in a cabinet. The Pig moved like a predator – and I saw: a human body wearing a pig’s head as ornament. It walked by the cabinet and its snout was just a few inches away from me. I held my breath, aching for freedom. A sudden sound caught the pig’s attention and it walked away. But not without giving me a last, final glance, as if it wanted to inform me that I was given a second chance. I will not get a third.” 2. When John Kramer, better known as Jigsaw, planned for his son to be born during the Chinese Zodiac's Year of the Pig, he wanted it to represent fertility and rebirth; a new beginning for him and his wife, and the start of a charmed life for his son. But that plan was shattered on the night that a junkie broke into his wife's clinic, hoping to score. After this event resulted in the death of his unborn son, John finally caught up with the junkie, making him his first test subject, and The Pig was changed forever too. It became a representation of the disease that was rotting John from the inside, a reminder that we are just meat unless we elevate ourselves by our actions, by grasping life from the jaws of death. The Pig became a vessel, an agent of Jigsaw, conveying the subjects to their test. For some of those who emerged victorious, The Pig could still be a rebirth, into their new lives as apprentices, even disciples, of Jigsaw. That was the case for Amanda Young, a troubled soul, whose life had been a catalogue of harm, both to herself and those around her. That changed when she faced, and bested, Jigsaw's test. Deciding her life was worth something, she became devoted to Jigsaw's cause, ready to take over when cancer consumed him. But she became more dependent on John, her anguish at his impending death combining with a belief that their test subjects weren't capable of saving themselves, of being reborn in the crucible of the games. Seeing this, John presented her with another game, another chance to save herself, but Amanda let her rage and jealousy rule her actions. She failed the test and took a bullet as a consequence. Bleeding out on the tiled floor, darkness engulfed Amanda's vision, accompanied by a sound like creaking wood. Then she was in a forest, once more viewing the world through the eyes of a Pig. Trees surrounded her, their branches clawing at her from all sides. Waves of panic washed over her and she could hear her breath reverberating inside the mask. Had she been damned, cursed to spend her days here, in this guise? Or maybe this was another test? Maybe she hadn't failed at all? John always thought one step ahead of everyone else, planned for every eventuality, and he would never give up on her, surely? Jigsaw may have gone but he had passed her onto another. A being for whom she would be The Pig again. Ultimately, she saw now that she had been right in the choices she had made. The time for games was over. There was no chance of redemption for any of them. They were meat, and meat was destined to die. Gideon Meat Plant-1. “I sought refuge the other day, from yet another creature. I did not pay attention to my surroundings and did not take notice of the place where I ended up. A place of death. Not death in the sense that I am accustomed to, but a place designed for death. A place where living things are meant to go to slaughter: an abattoir. I remember the smell from my childhood days, and that very same smell caught my senses as I stumbled across a floor that was flooded with debris and old tools of death. The smell of rust, blood and fear was so familiar. I longed to flee the area, to return to the campfire that I both despise and love. But that thing was still out there, I had to make use of the meat plant’s maze-like features, and flee…yet again. ” 2. Gideon Meatpacking Plant had long lain derelict before its original designer, John Kramer, moved back in, transforming it into the workshop where he would devise his many games, and the location where those games would play out. Surveillance cameras now cover every angle of the building, reporting the progress of test subjects to a bank of monitors: a grainy testament of life and death. In the workshop, hundreds of carefully-rendered plans hang from every wall. Half-completed machinery litters the worktops, next to the tools that helped create them. Mannequins are everywhere, their blank eyes staring impassively at their dismembered brethren, strapped into test rigs or already destroyed by successful trials. In many ways, the plant is unchanged: it still rings to the sound of buzz saws and sliced flesh; the drains still clog with congealed blood, fat and hair. The building’s occupants have always been dead meat, but now they have a chance at transformation; a chance to emerge back into the world, reborn as something better. And, if they fail? There’s always the drain. Michael-1. “Something, or rather someone, is here now. I’ve never seen this…Shape before. A man hiding behind a mask. He comes with a determination. But more worrying, he comes with an apparent grasp of the hunt. He’s does not strike me as someone who even went unwillingly to this place. Is there more to this being than I can fathom?” 2. Some humans are simply bad seeds. Seeds infused with a distilled and pure form of evil. Michael Myers is one of those seeds. He had no issues with causing the pain of others. Instead, it was exactly what he sought. But even life can be tough on those with minds filled with terror. The difference is just how one goes about to solve those problems. For Michael, he had to kill to find some inner peace. As he took his sister’s life, the police found a silent boy dressed as a clown at the scene. When one stumbles upon a growing fire, one does not pour gasoline on it. But this was an action taken by officials that had no idea how it would shape this demon in the boy's body. Sending Michael to a mental institution was a feeble attempt to save the child. Unsuccessful therapy and nightly screams just made him even more introverted and deranged. People hoped that Michael Myers would end up a parenthesis, soon to be forgotten and buried, a failure that soon were to rot away. But then...he escaped. Laurie Strode-1. “I stumbled upon another soul in this doomed corner of the earth. I do not know her name, but there is something about her. I have never crossed paths with her, but she seems as if she’s been doing this for far too long. Weary of the environment, clad in a kind of controlled panic, constantly looking over her shoulder, on the lookout.” 2. You never know what really matters in life until you've realised it might end soon. Laurie is one of those who just wants a quiet life in the suburbs, hanging out with friends, family and maybe go on a date or two. Laurie is a typical teenager. You could pass her on the street and not think twice. She does her homework and is liked by her friends, teachers and family. A simple night of babysitting turns into something that will forever change the course of her young life. A knife swooshing through the air. Screams from afar. Noises that plays tricks with her mind. But not Laurie, she’s made of something stronger. Something that won't give up. Haddonfield-1. “As I embarked on yet another day of struggle, I ended up in a new arena. A place that resembles nothing I’ve ever seen before. Houses with a structural design that’s foreign to me. Contraptions and architecture that are reminiscent of my hometown, but in another form. A disturbing and puzzling form. I try to avoid it all together.” 2. Haddonfield is a calm little town, without much going on. Or at least it was. If you were to ask anyone in the town, at the school or in a bar, if there’s something off with Haddonfield, they’d decline. To accept that this was the birthplace of one of the purest form of evil is hard. People living here have always felt safe and protected. There were no boogeymen or other shady characters in the night. No lurking, no skulking. People slept perfectly fine for decades knowing this for a fact. So when Halloween came about, the town’s folks were reluctant to accept that Haddonfield is now for ever known as an evil place. Gossip and made-up stories flooded the town. Nobody really knows what happened, or if it’s safe nowadays. Some moved away. Others visited as morbid tourists. During the day, a common visitor wouldn’t suspect a thing. But as the sun sets and night comes, an eerie quietness devours the town. People are afraid. And as you visit Haddonfield, you too will get afraid. Not only because it sits upon a dark history, but also because something is off. This isn’t a real place, but instead a warped version of a reality that is no more. An Entity version if you’d like. Ash Williams-During a weekend at a cabin with friends, Ash Williams uncovered the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (The Book of the Dead) and awoke something dark in the woods. Evil possessed his friends, whom he was forced to kill, and his right hand, which he sawed off. For the next thirty years, Ash ran from his past, working at a Value Stop department store and seducing women in dive bars. But he screwed up one night while being high, when he read from the Necronomicon to impress a woman. Evil found him once more, wrecking the life of those around him. But his co-workers, Pablo who was raised by a shaman and Kelly who was orphaned by the Deadites, helped him put up a fight. While battling Evil, Ash was reunited with his long-lost daughter Brandy, who encouraged him to embrace his role as saviour of humanity. After a terrible fight with a fully formed demon, Ash, drawing his last breath, was taken by the Knights of Sumeria and transported into the future. Ash wakened to a voice, his head throbbing. Since defeating a gang of Deadites a weak ago, he had been in a perpetual state of hangover. He heard the voice once more; a woman singing, sensual and inviting. Stepping into the corridor in his boxers, he strode towards the voice, which lead to the public locker room. As Ash pushed open the door, the singing stopped. There was a rustling of curtains. He called out, entering the change room. His voice reverberated on the mouldy tile walls. He pressed on, reaching a shower that was still dripping wet. Cold, humid fingers ran down his bare back. He turned around. A woman stood naked, her skin glistening in the morning light that streamed in from high windows. Ash recognised her instantly: Linda Emery, one of his former high school flings. They had gotten back together years later, while saving their home town from Evil. He had ended their relationship soon afterwards, preferring to indulge freely in his new-found popularity. Linda winked at Ash, who closed the distance between them. He caressed her cheek wistfully: What was she doing here? Did she know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter? And Pablo and Kelly? A sharp blade dug into his hand, making him jump back. Linda slid a finger across the edge of her blade, collecting Ash's blood on her fingertip. She smiled, and her skin shrivelled, her hair faded, her shoulders stopped, and her curves sagged, ageing decades older in a matter of seconds. She attacked Ash, who poorly managed to block, being half-naked. Every blow she delivered earned him a new wound. She slashed his bad knee and he fell to the floor. As she jumped on top of him, Ash shrieked in disgust, knocking the knife out of her grasp. Her varicose hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Gasping, he outstretched his arm, hand landing on a soap dispenser. He spurted out some liquid on his fingers and poked her in the eyes. The elderly woman winced, weakening her hold, and Ash elbowed her in the face, knocking her back. He rolled over and grabbed the knife on the floor. Just as he was about to plant it in her chest, he stopped. There was something else he wanted more. He pressed the blade against her throat. Let's make a deal, demon. In exchange for not killing you, you portal me back to my friends. The demon agreed. She began reciting the incantation, instructing Ash to repeat after her, which he failed to manage. When nothing happened, Ash threatened the demon, who argued back, blaming his poor pronunciation. Their combined exchange of Sumerian words triggered a hiss from the shower behind them. The wet tiled floor darkened, and the pipes burst. A whirlpool of dirty water, shower curtains, and used toilet paper swallowed the demon, while Ash held onto a locker door, which slowly slipped from his fingers. FFFUUUC- Ash landed flat on his chest in the Realm of The Entity, sputtering grass. He got up, brushing off the dry clothes he suddenly had on. Then he looked around and his grin fell. It was the kind of place that made two things obvious: one, there wasn't any bar for miles, and two, he was going to need his shotgun and chainsaw, both of which he lacked. As he started to walk towards a glinting light ahead, a scream rippled through the trees. Groovy. Ghost Face-Danny Johnson, known as Jed Olsen by some, grabbed the newspaper from the kitchen counter: it was a week old, but his face was on the front page, grainy and sunken. It was one of those muggy afternoons in Florida when heat and humidity permeated everything in the kitchen, making him sweat while standing still. He slouched in a damp chair to read. This article had better be good—his work in Roseville had been outstanding. GHOST FACE DISAPPEARS June 18, 1993 At first glance, Jed Olsen was a modest and enthusiastic freelancer with experience in a variety of small newspapers. The staff at the Roseville Gazette appreciated how easy-going and honest he seemed, and so he was treated as a stranger for no more than five minutes into his interview: "Jed quickly spotted the editor-in-chief in the room, gave him a wide smile and a firm handshake, and talked about good old American values. And that was it, he was in." —Ex-Contributor at the Roseville Gazette Olsen never justified his erratic career path, which zigzagged between several small towns from Utah to Pennsylvania. There was no verification of his previous jobs. He had a decent portfolio plus a good attitude, and they needed a contributor right away. THE ROSEVILLE MURDERS Olsen had been working at the newspaper for five months when the Roseville Murders began: victims from young to old, stabbed to death in their homes. From the reports, the victims seemed chosen at random, yet the killer knew his way around in the houses. The multiple stab wounds indicated a personal motive. No traces of DNA were found. The local police were confounded: the murders were carried with fury akin to a crime of passion yet coldly premeditated. The murderer also liked to stalk his targets. Two victims had reported being followed on their way home by a dark figure, a few days prior their death. The killer would follow them from Walleyes, a small bar in Northern Roseville, and snap pictures of them at home, while looking for a way in. He could watch the same victim for weeks, meticulously registering their habits and routines. When he felt the urge to kill, he'd visit the most vulnerable victim on his list, and break inside the house quietly. The whole staff worked on the Roseville Murders story. Olsen was often sent to interview the family of victims and relay official statements from the police. Unknown to everyone at the time, his involvement added to the final body count. Panic swelled in Roseville when Olsen produced footage of a hooded figure breaking into a house at night. The masked face, a white blur in the dark, stared at the camera for a second, before disappearing inside. “The Ghost Face Caught on Tape” was the resulting article, written by Olsen. He seemed proud of his work at the time, enjoying how the whole town feared his ghost stories. Weeks later, Olsen left a note on his work desk and disappeared: "I hope you liked my stories--I enjoyed bringing them to life. Don't worry, I'm not done." –Jed Olsen The Roseville law enforcement still refuses to comment as Jed Olsen remains at large. Danny smiled, ripping out the article from the newspaper. When the investigation had been pointing to him, he’d packed his bags and left Roseville swiftly. He got up, the clammy seat pulling his skin. An oppressive humidity engulfed him as he entered the bedroom. Condensation dribbled on a small misted-up window as bits of cracked wallpaper hung limply. Its floral pattern was covered with gruesome photos and newspaper headlines. Danny pinned the week-old article on top of a picture of lacerated scalps. A faint pang of hunger hit him, and he wondered when he had eaten last. Was it this morning, while washing his knife and clothes? Or was it last night, after following that girl down the street? He couldn't remember clearly. Taking a step back, he admired his work on the wall. His mind drifted, remembering all the articles he’d written, the stories he’d planned, and the scenes he’d brought to life. A shiver ran through him. A chilling breeze transformed the bedroom's humidity into an opaque, freezing Fog. A woman shrieked. Dead leaves crunched under his feet. He smiled in anticipation. Demogorgon-A blooming mouth full of needle-like teeth for a face, large, curved, razor-sharp claws, and powerful legs to pounce on victims, make The Demogorgon a frightening monster to face in any dimension. It is a nightmare of unrestrained, feral rage as it hunts down its prey and rips it to pieces, devouring every last morsel of flesh and gore, leaving nothing for scavengers. The creature is untouched by any sense of compassion or restraint. Looming over its victim, it shows no doubt or mercy, just the pure instinct of its insatiable blood lust as it delivers the deathblow. A perfect hunter, The Demogorgon is a macabre testament to the horrors lurking in the Upside Down and why it was choice pickings for The Entity. Nancy Wheeler-Studious and rebellious, Nancy Wheeler is a stubborn investigator with an instinct for a good story. When her closest friend, Barb went missing, she did everything she could to unravel the truth and secure justice. A brilliant journalist, she chases stories and follows leads despite the inequality and chauvinism she encounters at the workplace. Pursuing a lead one evening, she fearlessly approaches the Hawkins National Laboratory before suddenly losing consciousness. A moment later she awakens in a strange misty realm with the sound of a familiar roar echoing through the air. Steve Harrington-Popular and arrogant, yet compassionate, Steve Harrington is an unlikely mentor and leader. He often acts as a surrogate big brother to a younger boy named Dustin. He even helped him find his slimy inter-dimensional pet Demogorgon, D'Artagnan. His reputation as a protector grew and he soon became a sort of "babysitter" for a group of kids in Hawkins with a knack for messing around with strange and dangerous things. His courage is unmatched so that he was even able to fend off a Demogorgon when it threatened his friends. One evening he received a call for assistance from his friend Nancy Wheeler. He drove all the way to the Hawkins National Laboratory to see if she was okay. He searched the area but only found her notebook. Before he realised what was happening the ground opened up and a swirl of black mist filled his eyes. When he awakened he was in a strange place that seemed familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. Hawkings National Laboratory-The Hawkins National Laboratory was one of many federal compounds devoted to the Project MKUltra program. While conducting mind control experiments with test subjects on the ground floor—mostly on abducted children—the underground was ripped open by an inter-dimensional gate. This rift eventually unleashed an army of creatures in Hawkins. The authorities managed to seal off the facility, but not before the Chicago Sun-Times published an article exposing the operation and its part in the death of Hawkins High School sophomore, Barbara Holland. The laboratory’s multi-story compound still stands, a grim reminder of the disturbing events that happened there, most of which remain undisclosed except to the few who witnessed them firsthand. Underground Complex-1. Located below of the Hawkins National Laboratory, this underground complex released dozens of inter-dimensional creatures in November 1984 before the rift was sealed. The site includes an isolation tank and equipment once used by government officials to conduct mind control experiments on test subjects. Now the walls of the abandoned facility are sprayed with bullets and blood, evidence of the battle against the creatures. 2. Located below the Hawkins National Laboratory, this underground complex released dozens of inter-dimensional creatures in November of 1983, before the rift was sealed. The site kept some vestiges of its past as the mental health institute, including a mouldy isolation tank used by patients suffering from acute anxiety that was later modernised for mind control experimentation on promising test subjects. Now the walls of the abandoned facility are sprayed with bullets and blood, evidence of a battle against inter-dimensional creatures. Category:Blog posts